


sofas and ikea

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s11e02 This, Episode: s11e03 Plus One, F/M, Season 11, mentions of my struggle three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: How Scully finds her way home.





	sofas and ikea

It happens the way that it does because they haven't quite learned how to do this yet.

They were together near constantly from early 2000 to mid-2013. Scully didn't know how to talk to him in their missing years, so they rarely did, and when they did, it always felt wrong. Like something was missing. She didn't know how to be Mulder's ex at 49, and she is no better now, at 53. She misses him. And she doesn't know how to ask him to come back. If she can come back.

After her seizure, she thought she might. In those heart-pounding moments of thinking Mulder was dying and then realizing he wasn't, of gasping for air and blinking back dots in her vision to see him hovering over her, panic in his face, she'd thought it would happen. He'd helped her off of the ground and let her cling to his shoulder as she gasped for air, he'd taken her hand in the hospital hallway and talked to her about their son who was going to find them.

(Their  _son_. His voice that didn't quite sound like anything hovering at the back of her mind. The visions had stopped, and she couldn't remember what they sounded like, but she remembered the way it had felt. In one of the gray moments, she thinks he was asking about his father. Flickers of her and Mulder and William in her bedroom when he was only a few days old. Words shooting through her mind like arrows, painful, first:  _He's lying,_ and then:  _Where's my father?_  She didn't know who was lying, who William meant, but she wanted him to meet his father. She wanted to find her son and introduce him to Mulder. She wanted them to know each other so badly.)

In the moments after her mind had melded with her son's and a man had tried to kill her on the cold tile floor, Mulder had taken her home. Not to their house, but to her apartment. She held his hand the entire way and asked him not to leave. They'd crawled into her too-small bed she'd bought at a chain store, because it was far enough from their spacious yard sale bed (with the lumps in all the right places on the mattress) to keep her from crying every night. She curled into his side and he'd held her with gentle hands. She hadn't had any more visions of their son. They'd slept, and that was all that happened. He stayed a few days, in her bed the first two nights, on her couch the third and fourth, back home by the fifth. The way he did after her mother's funeral. The last time she'd been home, they'd held hands out in the field, drank beer and watched the sunset with her head on his shoulder. She'd kissed him goodbye before driving home. She'd been scared. They were both scared. She is still scared, as badly as she wants to go home.

They haven't quite learned how to do this yet. When Mulder says they'll take the suite on the doppelganger case, she looks at him in surprise. They haven't done this in the months since her stay in the hospital, haven't even talked about it. They just work together. Flirt a little, help each other with their coats at the end of the day and let their fingers linger a little longer than necessary. He looks back at her and she cannot read the look. What he is trying to do.

“There's a pullout sofa,” the clerk assures them.

“Okay,” says Scully, because what else is she supposed to say? She's made Mulder up a bed on the sofa, told him goodnight from her bedroom door and lay between stiff, cold sheets wishing he was there.

“Just trying to get some shut-eye,” Mulder says, shaking her head innocently.

Is it a proposition? She cannot tell. “I'm glad to hear it,” she says, walking past him.

They get up to the suite, a two-roomed thing with a bedroom and a joint bathroom and living room. Door between the couch and the bed. Mulder is trailing behind her, drops his suitcase in the corner of the room. “I can take the couch bed if you want,” he says.  

“Don't be ridiculous, Mulder,” she replies immediately, combing her hair out of her face with her fingertips. “With your back problems…”

“My back is fine, Scully. And besides that, I've gotten in the habit of sleeping on the couch.” She turns to him in surprise, her eyebrows raising. He shrugs. “Couch at home folds out. Closer to the kitchen and the office.”

He sleeps on the couch now. She didn't know that. She swallows. She wants to ask him to share the bed. She should ask, but the words are caught in her throat. “All the more reason for you to take the bed,” she says instead.

“Come on, Scully, I'm used to it.” He smiles at her gently, and she thinks about kissing him, touching his face and asking him to stay.

She twists her hair away from her face, says briskly, “I'm going to take a shower.” She can feel his eyes on her as she goes to the bed, unzips her suitcase and removes her pajamas. It is late, near midnight, and her bones are aching.

She takes a hot shower in the other room (why the hell would they put the bathroom in the room that is not the bedroom), and Mulder is sprawled out of the couch bed when she gets out, gray t-shirt hanging on his frame. “Nice digs?” he asks, and she nods. “You should get some sleep,” he offers. “We have a meeting with Arkie and his lawyer first thing in the morning.”

She's still tempted to ask him back to the bed, but sleepiness outweighs her need for him, and she ultimately decides against it. Not tonight. Maybe it's because she's tired or maybe it's because she's scared, but whatever the case, she isn't going to go any further. “Right,” she says. “God knows we could both use some shut eye.” The reason, according to Mulder, that they'd taken the damn hotel room.

“Right,” he says. He's looking at her warily, almost nervously, but still smiling.

She smiles back. She can't help it. They're still too scared to do anything, but this might be enough for now. “Good night, Mulder,” she says. She brushes a hand over his shoulder before crossing to the door.

“Good night, Scully,” he says, just before she closes the door.

\---

The second night, he comes into her room as she's getting ready for bed, and it's the way it's always been. They flirt, just a little, they tease each other, they argue about ghosts and evil, and Mulder smiles at her in a way that makes her stomach turn over and over like somersaults. She kicks him out for reasons unknown to even herself, but they're both smiling as she does it. “Knock three times,” he calls out as she closes the door, some old code from their early days in the FBI (originally an alert to something being out of the ordinary, eventually a warning that they were about to enter the room in the early days of their relationship—usually used by Mulder when Scully still had the no-sleepovers-on-cases rule).

The door shuts behind him. She leans against it, the smile slipping away from her face. She misses him. For a second, she thinks about opening the door, asking him to come back.

She used to kick him out of her room in 2000, and she'd always open the door, and he'd always been waiting on the other side, leaning against the door jamb and smirking at her. She hears his footsteps across the floorboards on the other side. She sighs to herself wistfully, pushes off of the door and walks back to her bed.

She curls up on her side of the bed and falls asleep quickly. When she wakes up, she is cold, curled on her stomach on his side of the bed.

\---

The third night starts like the first. They go back to the hotel, she showers and gets into bed alone. Thinks about asking Mulder to join her, ultimately decides against it. And then he is at her bedside again, standing over her like the evil spirit in a horror film with news of another dead. Just once, Scully thinks with some annoyance, why couldn't he come in asking to join her? Or maybe just give her some warning instead of just coming in and standing over her?

The lawyer is missing his head, and Scully sees her own face staring menacingly back at her from the crowd gathered. It shakes her to her core but she tells herself that, whatever she is seeing, it can only hurt her if she lets it. When she and Mulder get back to the hotel, she crawls into her bed without bothering to turn the lights on, Mulder padding into the other room tiredly. But something about the entire thing has her spooked. Her own face glaring at her hovering behind her eyelids. She lays on her side away from the door in case the Devil comes in, closes her eyes and tries to fall back asleep, but the feeling won't leave her. She feels as if someone is standing over her shoulder, the way Mulder has been the last two times someone died. The feeling grows stronger, shiver up her spine, and she turns over in a panic, hoping she sees Mulder's face instead of her own. There is nothing there.

She gasps in panicked relief, rolling on to her back. This is ridiculous. Whatever she is seeing cannot hurt her, and she should not be jumping at every sound, thinking it is some doppelganger or Mulder, come to tell her someone is dead or that he is in love with her. She is done waiting. She's on edge and admittedly a little frightened, and she doesn't want to be alone. So she won't be.

Scully gets out of bed, walking across the room and opening the connecting door. Doesn't bother to announce herself because he hasn't before; call it revenge. He's lying on his side, on his side of the bed, back to the door; she stands behind him until he turns over, startled. “Oh,” he says good-naturedly. “Speak of the Devil.”

“I can't sleep, Mulder,” she says honestly.

“What's the problem?”

“Something about this case is getting under my skin.”

“Well, we've had stranger cases, Scully,” he says, on his side facing her, his arm folded under his head.

“Can you hold me?” she asks, because it's what she wants. And there is no reason she shouldn't ask for what she wants. She doesn't want to be alone, waiting to face off with the devil. She wants to be with her partner.

The briefest moment of hesitation before he says, “Yeah, I can do that.”

She climbs onto the rickety couch bed beside him, her back to his chest. He wraps an arm around her, easily because he's been doing it for over a decade, and it feels like home.

\---

She asks what will happen to them when they grow old, because she wants to know. She doesn't want to be without him. “Oh, I'll always be around, Scully,” he says, and it warms her from head to toe. “Offering bulletproof theories of genius that you fail to assail with your inadequate rationality.”

The ghost of a smile playing on the edge of her lips, she can't do anything else but agree with him. “And I'll always be around to prove you wrong,” she says, and he hmms, his nose brushing the corner of her eye. She smiles. “Promise.”

This is all that matters. The two of them, forever.

\---

She kisses him first, rolls on top of him with her hands in his hair, their teeth clicking together as his mouth parts under hers. His hands press into her back, pulling her closer. She leans down, brushes kisses down his jaw, and he whispers, “I missed you,” in her ear.

“Mulder, shut up,” she breathes. They don't need to miss each other anymore.

\---

The fourth night doesn't really happen at night, and isn't technically the fourth; it happens on the same night, in the early hours of morning, when Chucky and Judy are dead and the doppelgangers are gone. She is packing up evidence in her room when he enters, says, “So I was thinking maybe we could get a couple hours in before check out time?” She gives him a questioning look, and he continues innocently, “I'm just talking about getting some shut eye,” like she hadn't woken up in his bed this morning.

“I'm glad to hear that, Mulder,” she says carefully. A replica of their conversation the first night.

“Yeah,” he says. “Uh… I guess I should hit the hay.”

She can't gauge his meaning, can't tell if they've fallen back into their old habits of saying things without really saying them. She thought they'd gotten past that when they moved in together; but then again, they've been veering away from the difficult subjects for years. It's why their relationship fell apart the first time. “Okay,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says. “But you need anything, you just, uh, call me.”

She's tempted to just ask what it is he wants. But instead, she says, “I can't imagine that I will.”

He nods a little at her, crosses the room and closes the door behind him. She keeps her eyes on the door, like it's going to open. Maybe. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. Maybe she should push through this strange piece of her that's holding back. She couldn't imagine that she'd need anything, but then again. “But then again,” she mutters to herself, “it's not out of the realm of extreme possibility.”

She crosses to the door, opens it, and there he is. Leaning against the door like it's 2000 again. She smiles at him, can't help it. He raises his eyebrows, says, “Knock three times?”

She raises her hand purposefully, raps on the door jamb three times before rising on her tiptoes to kiss him.

\---

They haven't quite learned how to do this yet, but they are sure as hell gonna try. 

They drive home together the next day. Mulder's hands on the wheel, Scully leaning back in her seat in a shirt of Mulder's that she put on by accident. They talk about the case, about the mechanics of evil and the Devil and absolutely nothing as the Virginia countryside flies past.

As they get closer to DC, they pass a sign announcing the exit towards Alexandria. Mulder looks towards her, his eyebrow raised. Scully shrugs, says, “Don't you think we should be getting our report done? Skinner will be wanting it.”

Mulder's finger hovers near the blinker, uncertain. “Well,” he offers. “Do you want to go into the office?”

“I'd rather go back to the house,” she says.

He smiles a little, pulls his hand back from the blinker. “If you think that's best, Scully,” he says at length.

“I do.” She reaches to cover his knee with her hand. His eyes are on the road, but he looks happy. She feels a similar happiness in her chest. “Better for the work ethic,” she says, squeezing before pulling back. “Quicker productivity.”

“Really.” He takes the exit that will take them to Farrs Corner. “Skinner will be delighted.”

Scully smiles at the trees outside the window. She is going home.

\---

The house looks the same as she remembered it; she wishes she visited more. Inside, though; inside is a completely different story. It looks like Mulder cleaned, redecorated. Little basketball hoop on the wall, oven mitts in the kitchen.  _I Want To Believe_ poster out in the open. Scully shivers a little as she enters the room; it hasn't looked this good since years before she left. She can feel Mulder's eyes on her, like he wants to know what she thinks. “I'll be right back,” she says.

She changes into a maroon sweater from her suitcase in an attempt at comfort, meets Mulder downstairs on the living room. He's changed, too, into some sweater thing that looks comfortable, makes her want to wrap her arms around him. He's digging around in the fridge when she enters. “Hey,” he says, lifting his hand to wave at her. “You want something to eat? I can make some dinner.”

“Maybe in a little bit,” she says, sinking into the couch. “That'd be nice, yeah.”

He closes the refrigerator and comes to sit beside her, their shoulders brushing. He slides his fingers down her wrist and intertwines them with hers. She leans her head against his shoulder wearily. “So where should we start?” she offers halfheartedly, jabbing her chin towards the files stacked on the coffee table.

“Oh…” He squeezes her hand, propping his feet up on the table. “Maybe we should start with clarifying what the hell happened last night. How did you defeat your doppelganger again?”

She rolls her eyes so hard that she thinks she might’ve pulled something—which actually feels a tad dramatic considering the fact that he can't see her face. “First of all, Mulder, how many times do I have to tell you…”

\---

They start with work on the report and end with TV on the couch, with dinner in between. It's pleasantly domestic in a way that they haven't experienced in years. Scully helps with the dishes after dinner and finds that, even though Mulder has changed the layout a bit, everything remains in the exact same place. It's comforting to know that he didn't change everything, that this is still her house, too.

They settle down on the couch and flip through the channels until landing on one they like. Scully puts the remote down on the table and lets her hand lie flat on the cushion between them. Mulder reaches down and covers it with his.

They keep their eyes on the TV. Scully takes a raspy breath before speaking. “Mulder,” she says softly. “You haven't really been sleeping on the couch, have you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him shrug. He says, “I missed you,” and he's clearly trying to play it off casually, but she can hear the roughness in his voice.

She turns to look at him and sees the raw emotion in his eyes. She reaches up to touch his face, cupping his jaw in her hand. “You know I didn't leave to hurt you,” she whispers. “That I did it because I thought it was the only option at the time. The only way to save us both.”

He nods carefully. “I know.”

She smooths her thumb over his cheekbone, smiles a little. Just a little. She doesn't want to talk about this, not tonight; she just wants to enjoy being here, with him. At their home. “You don't need to miss me anymore,” she says. “I'm here.”

He kisses her this time, softly. There is no proposition in it, only sweetness. He kisses her, and then they settle back into the couch to watch TV. But they're close enough that she can feel the heat coming off of him, that she can't miss his presence. What they're doing is so painfully normal, and she loves it.

Mulder falls asleep first, surprisingly enough, head tipped back and hands folded across his stomach. She smiles a little affectionately when she sees, reaches out and mutes the TV because there's no way she can sleep with the sound on before leaning back and closing her eyes. She drifts off just as quickly, breathing slow and deep and safe. No manifestations of evil here; she's sleeping with her face to the door.

When she wakes up, it is to electronic buzzing, and the voice of a long-dead friend, and three assassins with guns breaking in.

\---

One time, Mulder had told her that they were excellent partners, but they were absolutely horrible at the romantic shit.  _Well,_  Scully can't help thinking during a quiet moment in a cab, holding Mulder's hand as he rubs the indentations left by two sets of handcuffs,  _that still seems to apply today._

They're still stumbling through these early stages of reconciliation, seeing as how said reconciliation happened approximately twenty-four hours ago, but when being attacked by assassins in their home (their home, theirs), they move together like a well-oiled machine. Scully still can't quite believe they managed to escape an entire team of assassins with both hands cuffed together and cuffed to each other. That they managed to move so fast just after sleep, took down two men with guns. But however it happened, she's proud of them both. Their unspoken communication seems to be one thing that will never die.

“Hey,” Mulder says quietly. Up front, some annoying pop song plays on the radio. The taxi driver taps his fingers on the wheel, humming along. He slips his other hand into hers like they're still handcuffed together. “You okay? That was a little intense back there.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugs, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the cab. “Intense is kind of our M.O., Mulder.” Just the night before, he thought they were being stalked by their murderous doppelgangers. A few months ago, she was almost murdered in her hospital room. At least this time, they had the upper hand. They got away this time.

The end of Mulder's mouth quirks up; he pulls their joined hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of her right one. “Should've dropped you at home,” he mutters. “So you didn't get involved… You could've avoided all this.”

“Yes, but then you would be dead, Mulder,” Scully whispers pointedly. “And nothing is worth that.” His eyes are dark over the top of their tangle of fingers; she rubs his thumb with hers, an affirmation. “I'm  _fine_ ,” she says firmly. “We got away. And whatever happens now… we need answers. Both of us.”

Mulder's mouth quirks again and he squeezes her hands, rubs the indentations again before letting go. “Well, hopefully we'll find some here,” he says softly.

The cab pulls to a stop in front of Arlington Cemetery.

\---

Several encounters with an assassin and one conversation with the digital ghost of Richard Langly later, the two of them are on a bus to New York.

Both understandably exhausted but also understandably on edge, they take turns sleeping while the other watches the door. Scully takes the second shift, waking just as they cross into the state. Her head lolls against his head for a brief moment before she sits up. “Anything?” she murmurs.

“Nothing except those hellion kids on other side of us,” Mulder says with some amusement. “Go back to sleep, Scully; you barely got an hour in.”

“I'm too on edge to sleep,” she says, brushing her hands over her knees. “I'll be fine.”

He's looking at her softly, reaches for her hand. She squeezes his gratefully. “I've been thinking,” he says softly. “About what Langly and his girlfriend told us.”

“Mmm.” Scully pulls her knees up to her chest, curling up in the seat. “About wanting to be together forever in a computer simulation?”

“Yeah. About the mechanisms of a computer simulation. Didn't we have a case like this back in the 90’s?”

“Yes, the evil computer who made you hallucinate sexy nurses.” She smirks a little when he pouts at her. “I think this is a little different, Mulder. A little more advanced.”

“Right, but it's intriguing, don't you think? Wanting to be together forever?”

“I never knew Langly was interested in such a thing,” Scully says wistfully. She finds herself missing the Gunmen at odd times, some of the only friends she'd had left in those lonely days before she disappeared out of her life.

“People surprise you all the time,” Mulder agrees.

They sit in silence for a minute, palms pressed together. A video game beeps in the seat in front of them, and the kid behind Scully kicks her seat. She turns around to glare at him, and she almost misses what Mulder says: “Would you be interested in something like that?”

She blinks in surprise, turning around to face him. “Like what?” she asks slowly. “Living together forever in a computer simulation?” He's watching her carefully; he nods. She remembers the face of Karen, serious as she described her desire to live eternally with Langly. “Mulder,” Scully says, just as carefully, “Langly said the simulation was awful. That people didn't know who they were, that they were, were digital slaves…”

“I'm aware, Scully, very aware,” he says, pulling their joined hands into his lap. “I'm not saying we should jump on the digital hellship, but… it's a nice idea, don't you think? Being together forever, never having to die or be in pain or leave your loved ones…”

Scully has faced her own mortality all too often, as well as the possibility of immortality. As well as Mulder's mortality. In the months where Mulder was dead, she'd prayed so much for a miracle. She would've been bowled over at the possibility of never having to lose him again. She once understood what it's like to lose him for good. Back then, there wouldn't have been a goddamn question in her mind. And now. Now.

She licks her lower lip. “Well,” she says. “If a perfect opportunity ever arose…”

His eyes are on her, dark and serious. She smiles. “I did promise I'd always be around to prove you wrong,” she says. “Whether always is… until the end of our lives together or… another option where we never had to die.”

Mulder smiles, too. “Well,” he says, squeezing her hand before letting it go and turning to face front in his seat. “This is hardly a perfect opportunity.”

“No, somehow I don't want to live forever in the specific simulation we are about to destroy,” Scully agrees, turning around in her seat.

“Which reminds me, Scully,” Mulder says. The kid behind her kicks her seat again, and fury boils inside of her. “Strategy,” Mulder continues, very seriously.

\---

He is playing Erika Price, lying through his teeth. But there is some part of him that means it wholeheartedly when he says, “Could I be uploaded to the simulation? And could Agent Scully be with me?”

She's back. He is never going to lose her again.

\---

She destroys an entire world and her partner is on the other side of the door. “Hi,” he sighs as he enters, clearly exhausted.

Her hands go to him, touching his arm, his shoulder, his chest. “You okay?” she says, out of breath from adrenaline and fear.

“Got my phone back,” he says with satisfaction as she brushes the side of his face.

“Oh,” she murmurs, pressing her hand to his chest. “The simulator’s down,” she says, looking back at the lifeless computer.

“Okay,” Mulder says. “Let's bring him back through the tunnel to the FBI field office,” he adds, nodding towards the assassin handcuffed and unconscious in the hall. “Come back with some cyber forensic agents and then start a case against Erika Price.” He brings his hand up to rest heavily on her shoulder, grimaces heavily.

“Okay,” she says, watching him carefully. She's seen that face before.

“I thought I was gonna throw up for a second, but I'm okay,” he clarifies, smoothing out into his normal expression.

“Oh,” she says knowingly, still a little breathless, as she walks past him into the hall.

“Hey,” Mulder says, voice thick with exhaustion as she drags the guy off of the floor. “We're still pretty good at this, Scully.”

“Sure,” she replies through gritted teeth, voice thick with sarcasm. At the moment, she is just happy to be alive, to have saved their friend. “Sure we are. Let's see how we feel after we get home and nap for twelve straight hours.”

"Sounds like heaven to me,” he says. “Real heaven, not the, uh, computer simulated kind.”

Scully smirks at him a little as she drags the dead weight of the unconscious assassin down the hall. “Much better than a sofa bed, that's for sure,” she says.

\---

Having access to their bank accounts again, they take a flight back to DC and go back to the house with no formalities of asking if Scully wants to go to her apartment. Initially, they settle in on the couch, but Scully's back screams in protest. Between the sofa bed, the couch, the bus seat, and the plane seat, she needs a five-star-motel bed. “Mulder,” she mutters into the side of his neck. “We need to go upstairs. We need to get into a bed. A real bed.”

“I don't think I can move, Scully,” he mumbles.

“Have to.” She nudges at his side until he stands, groaning. They walk stiffly together towards the stairs. “Mulder,” Scully announces. “We need a vacation.”

“Agreed,” he says, tucking hair behind her ear. “Right now, I'll settle for a ten hour nap.”

“Twelve hour,” Scully clarifies. “Twelve.”

Their bed is even better than she remembered. The mattress is soft in all the right places, the quilts are just warm enough without being overly hot, and the sheets smell like Mulder. They curl around each other, shifting to avoid sore spots; Mulder wraps his arms around her waist and she buries her nose in his hair. “You're still using that shampoo I like,” she mutters, wrapping her fingers around the hem of his shirt. He nods, breath hot against her neck. “It's nice,” she affirms, letting her eyes slide closed.

He kisses her pulse point softly. “Hey, Scully,” he mutters. “I realize that there is a risk associated with moving back home… armed assassins unpredictably breaking in and all…” She chuckles, opening her eyes and sifting her fingers through his hair. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, and there is no hint of teasing in his voice. He isn't looking at her.

She slips back to look him in the eye, nose to nose, and tells him seriously, “It's like I told Skinner. This is our home. And now that we're allowed back in it, I don't plan on leaving for a while.”

A grin spreads over his face slowly; he gathers her up in his arms, pulling her into him. He kisses the top of her head. “Oh, Scully,” he murmurs. “You're the only one I'd ever go to Ikea with.”

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic originated as an irritation at the inconsistencies in plus one vs. this: while the msr was (mostly) pretty damn good, mulder and scully were in completely different places in both episodes--tentatively flirting and being all awkward about sharing a room in plus one, while scully's casually hanging at the unremarkable house and calling it "OUR home" in this. and then i thought: "hey, it would make WAY more sense for this to take place after plus one, after they've gotten over the initial hurdles and are a lot more comfortable with each other, though still finding their way back together." this is my attempt to explore that possibility and make it make sense.


End file.
